


Sunshine and Motor Oil

by RavenGrey



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Grief/Mourning, Loss, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-16
Updated: 2013-05-16
Packaged: 2017-12-12 00:29:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/805014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RavenGrey/pseuds/RavenGrey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam has never been more alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sunshine and Motor Oil

**Author's Note:**

> Angsty thing I figured I might as well post.

           Dean smells like sunshine and motor oil. He always has and it's a scent Sam's grown accustomed to. He hadn't realized it at the time, when it was always there, just how much he'd come to depend on that scent. Hadn't ever realized, not like this, that Dean smelled like home. Dean had always offered the comfort that home was supposed to, had always taken care of him the best that he could. Had provided them with a home through sheer force of will, blood and love.

           When Dean died, alone on the floor, choking on his own blood, he had taken it with him, every last bit of warmth and happiness that he had forged from nothing. He took it all and left Sam alone with the nothingness and bitter regret and self-loathing that accompanied not being able to save someone you love.

           Dean had given him a home, plain and simple.

            And now that's it's gone, Dean with it, and Sammy misses it with a fierce kind of longing, the deep aching rent in his chest giving an unforgiving throb while he curls himself around Dean's favorite leather jacket. It still smells like him, if only a little, under years of ingrained blood and sweat, and Sam buries his nose in it.

           It hurts. Hurts worse than anything he's ever felt and something barbed and burning claws at his throat, hot tears prickling at the corners of his eyes. Pulling himself in tighter around one of the few things of Dean’s he has left; Sam draws ragged breath after ragged breath while trying not to fall to pieces.

           When he’d checked into the nearest motel, after they’d put Dean in the ground, he’d asked for two queens and it wasn’t until he was in the room, staring down at the empty bed that he realized his mistake. He had barely made it to the bed that Dean usually occupies, the one closest to the door, before he’d collapsed in a pile of endless grief and sorrow.

           “Oh God.” Sam chokes out into the worn material, one hand fisted in the sleeve while the other closes over the hatefully cold metal of the samulet. He hadn’t been able to slip the leather cord over his head and had instead wrapped it around his fingers. “Oh God Dean.” Sam sobs out, chest convulsing with the force of his grief.

           His hand closes hard over the samulet, its sharp edges cutting into his palm and drawing blood. A numb agony has settled into his very bones and the bodily pain goes unnoticed. Tears soak his skin and the pillow beneath his head, which he grabs and flings from the bed.

           His breaths come in stuttered hiccups and his shoulder shake as sobs rack his body. His eyes feel swollen and gritty and blood drips steadily from his gashed palm. Each time he closes his eyes, Dean’s broken, bleeding body sears the backs of his eyelids and invokes fresh waves of bone-rending misery.

            Sometime around four in the morning, Sam manages to drift off into an uneasy sleep. Twenty minutes later Sam comes awake with a harsh start, breath punched from his lungs. He’d dreamed of Dean, whole and alive and warm and so fucking comforting in his arms and, not for the first time, Sammy doesn’t want to be alive.

           And this is how Samuel Winchester spends his first night without Dean.


End file.
